


Keith Ko-Game and the SilverChef

by ThirteenSocks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, YouTube, accidental sugar daddy, cum kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 15:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirteenSocks/pseuds/ThirteenSocks
Summary: Keith, a gaming youtuber, moves to the big city for opportunity. There he meets his youtube crush, Shiro the ”SilverChef”. What starts as online pining becomes friendship and then accidental sugar daddying, when Keith’s economic struggle is revealed to Shiro. Somewhere along the way the two fall in love.





	Keith Ko-Game and the SilverChef

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my dear, dear friend for saving the day and being a last minute beta. Thank you Punkinpinkglitter! If you like super cute (and sometimes silly) sheith fics, then go check out Punk’s work! 
> 
> And thank you to my artist who was so great and easy to work with!

Keith draws the cool air into his lungs. He’s stuffed into a too-big coat, a hand-me-down already when his dad had received it, though not entirely threadbare, as a Texan winter didn’t require it. It’s garrish, red and yellow plaid, with a faux fur trim. But it’s warm, is all Keith can think. It’s warm and it was free, and in the harsh temperatures of this new, Big City, that’s all he can ask for.    
  
Setting up his apartment doesn’t take very long. He’d made the drive up there with all of his life’s belongings with him. There’re a few trophies from the martial arts championships he’d won when he was younger, when his mother was there, when there was money to afford classes, and food to sustain all the protein and nutrients burned, and he was loved, and his father was happy and-   
  
The breath leaves much hotter than it entered.    
  
His apartment houses a pillow, some blankets, a roll-up cot, and a mini fridge.    
  
It would feel lonely if not for Red, his giant St. Bernard, who is curled up on the bed, snoozing away the stress from the road trip.    
  
Keith smiles and sets out food for her.    
  
—   
  
”Hey, it’s Keith Ko-Game, everyone. Sorry for the pre-recorded video, but my internet won’t be set up for a few days.” He chuckles into his phone’s camera, ”Ignore the sound of a train going by, it’s just Red. I know y’all thought I was kidding when I said she could snore so loud, and by y’all I mean youtube user Sir-L0nce-Alot, but here’s your proof.”    
  
He turns the camera to capture the dog, whose legs are twitching, and a soft ”boof” slips out between the snores.    
  
”Red says, ”Thank you, Hunk, for all the Ko-fi’s, it put food in my bowl.”” His voice raises in pitch, in a mock attempt of not sounding like himself. Red ”boof”s again, affronted even in sleep.   
  
”Anyways, for those of you who have been asking, I’ve finally set up that Amazon Wishlist account. The details are in the links below. I can’t in good conscience game on McDonalds wi-fi, so I’ll see y’all in a few days.”    
  
He clicks to off button on the screen. There’s hope one day he’ll make it big, or at least big enough, to be able to afford a real camera. Most of his videos use screencapture, so he’s able to deliver a decent enough resolution in his videos. But a quality camera would mean he could record more content than just his games, and it would be helpful in taking photos for his Etsy shop.    
  
”Bye girl, see ya later. I gotta go find that McDonalds. You hold down the fort, k?”   
  
—-   
  
  
Walking to a destination is a novelty. Texas requires a car trip to even find your neighbors. Or, at least, where Keith was from.   
  
Keith is happy to stretch his legs. He loves cars, motorcycles, and anything in between. But it’s one thing to go on a joyride, and a whole other to be bent inside a car for over 24 hours. While it had currently been the latter, his own bike had rode on the hitched trailer, so any day now it would be the former.    
  
The McDonalds wasn’t hard to find. He was in the richest neighborhood his income could afford. Meaning, it was only a few steps above being on the streets. Fast food chains and any store that could make a quick buck off the poor folk were plentiful.    
  
This one had a security guard posted outside. Keith was sweating for a moment, sure that the man would see him and Keith’s Asianness would be reason enough to bar him from entrance, but the guard paid him no mind.    
  
He opened the door and immediately heard the smooth rising and falling of Korean. There was a family of five, a man and woman, and what appeared to be their three children, headed toward the Playland. A smile found its way on Keith’s face. No, this wasn’t Texas. And how sweet it sounded to hear his mother tongue.    
  
He orders a McDouble and sits down to upload the video.   
  
As he waits for it to download, he opens e-mails. Two of his three commission slots were spoken for.    
  
Keith moved out to the Big City to make his dreams come true.    
  
Small Town, Texas didn’t exactly have a thriving art community. Most boys his age (22) are commuting to the biggest city (lowercase) to do a 9-5 shift. The lucky ones at least. Some don’t have a set schedule, those ones are manual labourers, or the cashiers at the local Walmart. A few even work seasonally as farmers. But Keith, Keith damn Kogane, just had to be bitten by the art bug.    
  
Some days he’d trade it for the cashier job. If only for steady and reliable hours and income.    
  
But then he’d put pencil to paper, brush to canvas, knife to wood, and any notion that he could be something other than that, than this, is forgotten like dirt is washed down the shower drain; it’s gone without evidence it ever was there to begin with.   
  
—-   
  
The phone rings as he’s walking back home.    
  
It’s his uncle, Kolivan, and Keith mutters a curse at having forgotten to call as soon as he made it in. For all his stern expressions and firm reprimandings, the man cared deeply for his nephew. Kolivan was also too smart for his own good, likely having calculated the exact hour Keith would have arrived. He presses send warily, bracing himself to get a lecture.    
  
”Keith.” The man’s voice is hard-edged. Yeah, Keith thinks, he’s in Trouble (capital T).    
  
”Sorry, Kolivan. I got sidetracked. Please, I don’t need a lecture.”    
  
”I could give you one ten times over, and still you would block out my words. It is as if your ears do not connect to your brain, my child.”    
  
Oh, yikes. Harsh.    
But fair.   
  
”Did I mention I was sorry?”    
  
”I amend my statement. It is not your ears, but your memory.”    
  
Keith snorts. To anyone but him, Kolivan’s words would have bite. But, he is him, so he sees the joke for what it was.    
  
”Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’ll call next time. Yeah?”    
  
”Yes. Now, I actually did have something to speak to you about.”    
  
Keith switches the phone to the other side, resting it between shoulder and cheek, so he can reach his keys and unlock the door. It’s a small favor that he landed the groundfloor apartment.    
  
”Ok, shoot.” Keith toes off his shoes at the door and places them in the small cubby next to it. It’s more of a plastic bin than a cubby, but he only has one pair of shoes, so he only needs one compartment. Much cheaper that way anyways.    
  
”I, the owner of Marmora, would like to formally commission one Keith Kogane, youtube personality Keith Ko-Game, to make the first and only video tour of our restaurant.”    
  
”Keith Ko-Game would like accept, but his content is focused on gaming.” Keith plops down onto the cot. Red jumps at the sudden movement and sniffs in his direction. He apologizes and pats her head.   
  
”The offered job pays handsomely, Mr. Kogane.”    
  
Keith drapes an arm over his face. Kolivan has him, he knows he does. Damnit.   
  
”When and where?”   
  
—-   
  
It’s Keith’s first night in the apartment. He has a small stock of staples in his cabinet and fridge.    
  
Keith is secretly passionate about cooking. Having been orphaned at a young age, he’s learned over the years how to be self-sufficient. It took a few different foster families to get matched up with one that stuck it out. They adopted him just months into fostering him, and have done everything they could to help him work through his traumas. His mother taught him the basics of cooking, but Keith was 18 soon after she began, and he immediately went to work and got a place of his own. He loved them, his family, and they loved him, but he’s independent by nature.    
  
This led him to discovering a popular youtuber, whose real name is Shiro. Keith found his cooking channel when looking for how-to videos after getting sick of ramen day after day.    
  
Shiro cooked with fresh, and often expensive, ingredients. But that didn’t stop Keith from substituting them.    
  
Keith hoped to one day make a guest appearance on Shiro’s videos, where he could simplify the ingredients, so that anyone, of any income level, could cook homemade meals.   
  
Keith closes his eyes, sorting through the videos he’s watched so much to the point of memorizing them. It was handy to not need to pull up a video at the grocery store. Though quietly, he thinks it doesn’t help that Shiro is so handsome. Keith smacks his forehead on the fridge.    
  
”Focus.” He hisses.    
  
Red comes into the room to check on him, giving his hand a lick. He reassures her with a scratch behind the ears.    
  
”Let’s see, girl. We have... Oh!” There’s an onion and tomato paste, he realizes he can make a sauce of that by boiling the onion with the paste. There’s a box of spaghetti noodles. ”I can whisk some garlic in the olive oil, pour that on some bread, and bake it up.” Perfect! He clicks his tongue and gets to work on making dinner.   
  
  
As he’s slurping the noodles, too hungry to roll it proper between fork and spoon, he thinks about the next day.    
  
Kolivan owns and runs a serious restaurant, and Keith is going to be in there, filming.    
  
It’s a honor as much as it is something nerve-wracking.    
  
Keith has never been fancy in his life. The only times he’s ever dressed up were for the school dances his family made him attend. It was uncomfortable for him. He’d sooner be naked than stuffed into some suit. Which meant he needed to figure out where he could get something dressy on short notice.    
  
Unfortunately for him, he knew exactly who to talk to.    
  
  
”You do know that Shiro works there.”    
  
Keith nearly tripped over his own feet, which would be bad, considering he’s currently wearing an expensive Italian get up (don’t ask Keith the name. It was told to him and just as quickly forgot). He catches himself by the hand against the glass of the middle of a three mirror set-up.    
  
”Ugh, Keith. Now I’ll have to clean that mirror.”    
  
”Sorry, Lance.”    
  
Lance huffs and waves his arms dramatically, but there’s no real malice to it.    
  
Lance McClain, one of his followers on youtube, owns an upscale suit shop in Uptown. He married into royalty, a princess of a country called Altea, who is in America for diplomatic relations. Though, even with the money he has access to, Lance worked three jobs for years to save up for his education. He attended and graduated from a prestigious arts school in the area, with degrees in both fashion and interior design. His name is big in the arts world, all by his own hardwork.   
  
How someone with so much could ever find friendship in Keith, Keith would never know.    
  
Lance wasn’t always so selfless, but he’d matured, and now they bickered in good fun.    
  
”Hm. Stand up straight, I’m worried about the fit at the elbows. You’re lucky you have a modelesque figure, because there’s no way I’d be able to get this tailored in just a few hours.” Lance walks over to Keith and lifts Keith’s forearm, his eyes on the sleeve as he tests its bend.    
  
When Keith had messaged Lance last night, he was expecting to get laughed at. Instead, Lance had graciously offered to lend Keith something for the day. With the caveat that he’d need to buy the suit if something happened to it.    
  
”That’ll do. Just don’t go making sudden or wide motions, y’hear me pal? This is imported from Italy.”    
  
Keith tuts but agrees.    
  
Just as he’s about to turn away, to go collect his belongings, Lance holds a hand up.    
  
”Keith... you haven’t even looked at yourself in the mirror, yet. I love it. Shiro is definitely going to love. But...” he slowly brings his hands down on Keith’s shoulders. Waiting a breath, looking straight at Keith, Lance waits for permission. When he receives a small nod, given hesitatingly, he turns Keith towards the mirrors.   
  
Had he really been avoiding his reflection?    
  
Keith notices he still isn’t looking at himself.    
  
He takes a deep breath and slowly, steadily, brings his gaze forward.    
  
Keith has always thought of himself as being rough. Rough in personality, rough on the eyes. But his hair is combed back into a ponytail at the base of his head. His bangs refuse to be tamed, and hang over his forehead, framing his face. The shirt, delicate red and white stripes running horizontal, shapes his form. Instead of stringy, with long legs and a smaller body, he looks powerful for his stature. The sleeves define the muscles in his arm. The taper from shoulders to waist is evident. His legs look sturdy.    
  
”Oh.” He slips out, too shocked to hold it back.    
  
”Yeah, ”oh”. Now come on, you have some filming to go do.” Lance chuckles as fire spreads wild on Keith’s face.    
  
Keith rounds up the bag with his own clothes and waits for Lance to lead the way.    
  
He insisted a suit this expensive could not touch the seats on public transport.   
  
  
  
They get out of the car at the front entrance. A tall, burly man in a suit takes the keys Lance hands him and drives the car to wherever they keep their lot. Keith doesn’t focus on it, he’s to enthralled with the entrance to the restaurant.    
  
An red awning curves out and over the front. It’s likely there so that the customers can avoid inclement weather, should any be present, on their walk from the restaurant to their cars.    
  
The windows are tall, and clear. Anyone eating at the Marmora would want to let the public know. A ”table for two” is set up neatly in front of each window. All three of them are occupied. Keith is glad for Lance’s help, because he feels underdressed even with the expensive suit.    
  
”I helped with designing the remodel.” Lance throws a casual hand over his shoulder as two men open the door for him.    
  
Keith eyes them for a moment, as if they’re going to close it on him, but reminds himself that he’s been invited here, and rolls his shoulders back, following Lance.    
  
The inside is grander than the outside. The ceilings are tall. Light fixtures that look like bursting stars hang down. The ceiling itself is painted in deep reds and blues to form what looks like nebulae. The floor is a sleek black. The table cloths each display some type of astronomical phenomenon. Keith gawks at the spot where Lance’s feet just moved from. The print is visible and glittering, cracks spiking outwards.    
  
”I designed the floor to be pressure-reactive.” Lance comments back at Keith, without looking. ”Space is en vogue right now.”    
  
Keith looks at his own feet, seeing they also created the cracks.    
  
”Keith, I am glad you have made it.”   
  
Keith looks up to see Kolivan. On his shoulder is bag that’s shaped like a large camera.    
  
”Ah, yes. Here,” Kolivan let’s the strap slide down and hands it to Keith, ”I figured you were planning on using your phone’s camera. Which is sufficient for your personal endeavours, but inappropriate for professional filming.”    
  
Keith feels heat creep onto his cheeks and his phone is warm in the pocket it’s tucked into.    
  
Kolivan nods at Lance, whom shoots Keith a thumbs-up, and meanders over to a table where a person he can only think is Lance’s wife is sat.    
  
”I am glad to see you have made friends. Now, on to business.”    
  
Kolivan talks him through what he’s looking for.    
  
Keith sets up the camera, which is large and will sit on his shoulder, as he listens. Keith will record an interview with Lance and Allura (Keith learns is her name) about the food and the interior design. He’ll need to get footage of them eating and reacting to it. There’s also the kitchen. Kolivan tells him that the main focus will be that. People have already reviewed the food many times over, but it’s the kitchen where it all happens.    
  
Keith hums, letting Kolivan know he’s paying attention, as he tests the view from the viewfinder.    
  
”Thanks, again.” Keith says warmly.    
  
Kolivan nods and goes toward where Lance and Allura are.    
  
Keith searches for the record button, which is, thankfully, marked by its red color. He presses it and raises it to his shoulder. The screen shows a blinking red dot in the corner.    
  
”Hi, I’m Keith. Welcome to Marmora.” He says. He’s not sure if he’ll cut the sound out in post-production, but he feels awkward to not give commentary.    
  
He aims the camera towards the floor. Kolivan’s footprints are there, but fading. He doesn’t want to accidentally record other guests. Even though he just wouldn’t use the clips, he doesn’t want to anger people. Especially people who can patron a restaurant like this.    
  
Keith uses his the viewfinder’s view to navigate.    
  
”Oof.”    
  
Keith curses, he bumped into someone, and he holds tight to the camera as he’s falli- oh.    
  
Keith blinks up at the person who currently had their arm around his waist.    
  
”Woah there, you ok?”    
  
It slips out before Keith can stop it. ”Shiro.”    
  
Keith can barely breathe, his throat is dry, dry as the desert he came from.    
  
Shiro’s bangs are slicked back and beads of sweat glisten on his forehead. Keith can feel Shiro’s body heat from this close. The arm holding him up is strong and thick. Keith gets the courage to look at Shiro’s face and he gasps softly. Shiro looks shocked, searching Keith’s face for something.    
  
Wow. Those eyes are so light they’re almost gra-   
And they’re looking at me.    
  
Keith gulps.    
  
They blink.   
  
”Sorry, uh. Are you ok? You almost fell.”    
  
”What no, I- No, it was me. I ran into you. Are you ok?”    
  
The chuckle Shiro gives is warm, as warm as it makes Keith feel.    
  
Keith wants to chase that arm as it gently uncurls from around him.    
  
”I’m fine. Be careful, ok? I have to head back now.”    
  
Keith nods and watches Shiro turn back into the kitchen.    
  
  
”Here’s where the magic happens.” Keith speaks to the camera.   
  
It’s a sprawling kitchen packed with chefs. They bustle about, dodging each other gracefully, as they tend to all of the food around their stations. They’ve likely worked together a long time to move so in sync. One worker jostles a pan back and forth over the flame, rushes over to the pantry and swiftly returns with a carrot, then drops it in the pan and continues moving it. Another stirs a pot whilst reaching over to pluck some grated cheese from a plate barely within reach. The busy atmosphere and thick heat are a stark contrast from the relaxed air in the dining room.    
  
Keith finds Shiro in the furthest corner, chopping vegetables.    
  
Shiro’s skin displays the strain of muscle in his arm. He makes quick work of the cucumber; first he skins it and then slices it. His speed is faster in person than on his  home cooking videos.    
  
Keith thinks about what type of control it takes Shiro’s arms to be capable of such fervor but manage to hold steady when slowed down.    
  
He turns the camera’s focus to Shiro.    
  
The black shirt of his uniform is strained over Shiro’s immense musculature. Shoulder blades pull in, out, up, down, every which way on the fabric. Despite it being tucked in and belted, it’s risen up with all the movement. The skin of his hips carries the same tan as his face.    
  
Shiro probably spends a lot of time outdoors, Keith thinks, shirtless.   
  
The black slacks cup what is a very firm backside, and wide, thick thighs.    
  
Shiro raises an arm to wipe at his forehead. It reveals even more of his back.    
  
Keith watches him work through camera, not taking in what Shiro’s actually doing, as  he’s more distracted by the man himself. It’s when he realizes there’s a heat building inside him that has nothing to do with the temperature of the kitchen, that moves away and back into the dining area.    
  
He films the interview with Lance and Allura on autopilot. He’s glad they can’t see his expression from behind the lens.    
  
When Keith’s finished he thanks Kolivan and lets him know that the post production and editing should be finished in a few day’s time. He removes the memory card and carefully puts the camera back into the case.    
  
Lance hands him the bag of his other clothes.    
  
Keith changes in the bathroom. He feels mildly embarrassed to have to walk through the restaurant in his street clothes, but Lance had errands to run and Keith didn’t feel like tagging along. He hands the bag back and over and says his farewells.    
  
It takes a few busses to get on one that travels his route, but he’s glowing as he replays the mental images of Shiro the whole way home.    
  
  
——-   
  
City life was much different from country living, Keih mused as he strolled alongside the shops, sketchbook tucked beneath his arm. His hands, bundled inside soft mittens, were buried into the pockets of his coats. His breaths made clouds in front of his lips. It was also much, much colder up there. Groups of people milled around him, their conversations a background hum that was comforting. He wasn’t good with people, but he loved them. Too much of his childhood had been spent isolated.    
  
He was mostly wandering around to get a better picture of the heart of the city. His apartment was on the outskirts, though there shops there, he wanted to see where the fancy folk went. So far he’d passed by clothing stores with items that costed more than his rent. Perhaps the biggest offense was a pair of flat, black shoes, ordinary save for the emblem that most have signified their designer. They were double the price of his rent. Worst of all, they were pleather. He would know; he’d tanned hides before back home.    
  
Crossing the street, Keith worked his way until the prices in the window came down, and he could recognize the names of stores.    
  
The smell of roasted coffee beans and buttered pastries drew him to a café on the corner next to a Macy’s and Nordström. A few tables with umbrellas were on the outside. Snow was weighing down the fabric but the table itself was clear. As he approached the buzzing of chatter could be heard. It was busy and full. He chuckled at himself, knowing full well he was about to pay $5 for a coffee, but couldn’t fight the unknown feeling that was drawing him in. Something inside, he realized, was going to be worth the expensive cup.    
  
Warm air rushed to envelope him as he entered. His cheeks and ears stung at being called to feel again.    
  
The menu was huge. It was a sign that covered the entire wall behind the bar and ordering area. Names in Italian, or French, he wasn’t sure, were scrolled throughout. He searched for plain coffee, which was about the only thing he felt confident ordering. Where he was from, your only choice in ordering was small, medium, or large. You got coffee that was scooped out of a can; the same can you bought from the grocery store in town. It didn’t taste good, but it did its job.    
  
Looking up at the menu, weighing the names against what he knew from his one Spanish class (so far he’d only deciphered latte; the beverage would have milk, but that’s as far as he got), the line to order thinned. Too quickly, he found himself standing before a girl behind the register.    
  
”Uh.”    
  
Smooth, Keith. Smooth.   
  
”I’d like... a... coffee?”    
  
The girl’s face said that she thought he was joking, but she was on shift and couldn’t berate him for his ill-mannered humor. Which helped his confidence.    
  
”...medium?”    
  
She had started to scowl.    
  
”I- look I don’t- I’ve never-”    
  
”Hey, it’s ok. He’s new here,” that voice...,”We’re gonna need another minute.”   
  
Shiro’s large hand wrapped around his shoulder. Keith could only gawk and follow the man as the hand on his shoulder moved down to the small of his back.    
  
”Shiro, what are you doing here?” Keith looks Shiro up and down. He has a black, knit cap on, pushing the top of his hair down like bangs. A maroon scarf is wrapped around his neck and tucked neatly into his buttoned-up coat. His pants are sleek and cling around to bulges of muscle (and, if Keith is honest, also *the* bulge. Not that he’s looking).    
  
”It’s my day off, just doing a little Christmas shopping. I think the better question is what are you doing here?”    
  
”Oh just, yknow- hey, so. You understand this?” He gestured to the menu. The chuckle that came from Shiro warmed him better than anything in a mug would ever be able to. He was grateful for his defrosting face, the pink would be reasoned away as cold.    
  
  
”You?”   
  
It takes Keith a full few seconds to comprehend that he’s being asked a question. And that questions require answers. And what his answer even is in the first place. ”I’m working on commissions. Gotta pay those bills somehow.” He slips the sketchbook out from beneath his arm and holds it up.   
  
”Ah, I see. Why don’t you go sit down, I’ll take care of the coffee. My treat.”    
  
On the one hand, Keith has his pride. He’s worked hard for everything he’s ever gotten. It always makes him bristle when people try to buy him things, unearned at least. But he’s also living on his own in a new, big city, with a wallet that’s nearly collecting dust, for all its non-use.    
  
”Ok.”    
  
But he can’t help but feel like paying Shiro back, so, he’ll just work extra hard on those commissions.    
  
Keith chooses a booth on the second floor. He likes being high up. It’s nothing like any of the buildings back home, where they’re more wide than tall. If they’re big at all. It gives a nice view of the shopping centre too. People are milling about, swaddled in their coats and other winter accessories. The plaza is decorated for the upcoming holiday. Ribbons are looped between buildings, snowflake designs hanging from them. Snow just in front of stores, where people’s feet aren’t traveling, frame the darker reds of the bricks. Windows have displays of various toys, clothes, and the latest gadgets. Everything is way above Keith’s budget, even the smallest toy, but that’s why he chose to come here.    
  
The energy surrounding these people is excitement.    
  
They have warm homes to go to. Their clothing not on fashionable, but functional. The holidays are time of parties and families and gifts for them. There’s a buzz around the air. The biggest worries they have are getting the right gift, not being able to get one at all.    
  
The security the others have is a blanket Keith is using to comfort himself, to block the cool air of poverty that chills him.    
  
The clinking of ceramic against the laminate of the wood shocks him out of his thoughts.    
  
”Hey, you doing alright?”    
  
Keith can’t help but return Shiro’s smile.    
  
”I got you a mocha. It’s coffee with chocolate in it. Since you seem to be new to it, I figured the sweetness would balance out the bitter of the bean.”    
  
Keith thanks him and takes a sip. Shiro’s right, it is good.    
  
”So, uhm. I know this is weird to say,” Shiro plays with his hat, adjusting it a few times until he just takes it off and rests it on the table, ”But, I follow your channel. You’re Keith Ko-game, right?”   
  
Keith chokes on the drink of coffee he took. It burns his lungs and he breaks into a coughing fit. He wants to pretend Shiro didn’t just say that.    
  
”Yeah, ok. It’s pretty weird, like I said. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something earlier but, I just- it was never the right time.” He drums his fingers along the handle of the mug, looking out the window, instead of at Keith.    
  
Worse than having to hear Shiro follows him is having to say what he does next. ”I actually follow you too.”    
  
Shiro’s head whips back forward. His eyes are wide. ”Really?”    
  
”Yeah, I didn’t exactly learn cooking from my dad. Though, I modified just about all of your recipes. They’re really expensive.”   
  
They talk about each other’s channel. It’s somehow not as awkward as Keith thought it would be. Shiro discusses some of the games, and Keith goes on about some of the dishes. It’s actually enjoyable, Keith realizes.    
  
Conversation moves on to their pasts.    
  
Shiro is a Japanese-American, first generation. Shiro and his grandfather moved to the states after his parents died. His grandfather started a restaurant back in the town Shiro grew up in, which was where he picked up his love of and skills for cooking. He came out to the big city for culinary school, one of the most prestigious in the nation. He’d won scholarships for it. It was hard leaving his grandfather, but, after he started working at Marmora, Shiro was able to move him out too.    
  
Keith tells him about being half Korean and life in his small town.    
  
Before they know it the sun is setting. Though, to be fair, Keith remarks, it’s winter and the sun does set early.    
  
Shiro offers to drive Keith home, but he politely refuses. It’s enough he was bought coffee. Besides, he thinks without saying, he doesn’t want Shiro seeing the place he lives in. Keith’s life is worlds away from Shiro’s own.    
  
  
———   
  
Keith picks up a handbasket from the front of the store.    
  
He hates grocery days.    
  
The store near him doesn’t carry the kimchi or gochujang paste that he likes, so he has to go into Uptown to get it. ’I’ll Have a Blue Christmas’ is playing over the store’s speakers as if Christmas is not for a few more weeks. Elvis’ voice seems to almost mock him as he loads the basket up with a jar of kimchi, some rice crackers, and cheap ramen.    
  
He’s bumped into and nearly loses handle on his items.    
  
”Keith?”    
  
Keith’s head jerks up at the sound of that voice. Shiro’s voice.    
  
”Is that your dinner?”    
  
”And if it is?” Keith scowls.   
  
”Hey, don’t get my wrong. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just.. That’s not very nutritious.”    
  
”Oh, wow. I didn’t know that. Gee, thanks for informing me.” He turns on his heel. No matter how handsome this man is, Keith is not going to suffer some rich, uppity prick looking down on him. Besides, kimchi has a lot of nutrients.   
  
”Wait, Keith, please. I’m just- I meant. How about you come to my place for dinner? I’ll cook you up something.”   
  
Keith scoffs. The nerve of this guy. ”I don’t need your charity.”   
  
”It’s not charity. Look, I... I wanted to hang out. And. I’m just not very graceful around cute people.”    
  
Keith wouldn’t believe Shiro’s telling the truth, if not for the look of earnest on his face. ”Fine, but I still have to eat the rest of the week, so let me buy these.”    
  
”Cool, I have to pick some things up too, wanna shop with me?”    
  
Shiro turns out to be pleasant company.    
And Keith enjoys their evening together. Shiro teaches as he cooks, and Keith realizes he’s a natural. His videos aren’t high quality from editing, though that helps, but it’s because of how good he is at teaching. By the end of the night, Keith’s had more fun than he’s had in a long time.    
  
They make plans to meet over the weekend. It becomes a regular thing.   
  
——   
  
Keith wakes up Christmas morning to a doorbell, and opens the door to packages on his doorstep. They’re address to ”Keith Ko-Game” from ”An Avid Follower”. Keith snorts as he brings them inside, ready to open these gaga gifts from Lance.    
  
”Hey, Red, looks we actually have something else to open.” Red waddles over to him from beside the bed. She sniffs the boxes and then settles on the floor next to the small, 12 inch tree. He’d already opened the box from his dad. It had a few gift cards in it, as well as a package of new socks, and three high quality colored pencils. Hunk had sent a Bath and Body Works candle that smelled like roasting marshmallows, along with a metal stand that depicted pine trees with glittery snow on them. Pidge gave him an mp3 player.    
  
Keith plops down next to Red, setting the boxes down and fishing his phone from his pocket. He shoots off a quick text to Lance.    
  
’To my Avid Follower,   
I didn’t know you could spell.   
Keith”   
  
It doesn’t take long to get a response; it’s a photo of Lance flipping off the camera. With the caption, ”I’m so flagging your next video, mullet.”   
  
”Red, be careful. We don’t know what’s in these.”    
  
Keith reaches out for the first one. It’s a small box with red and purple stripes. He slides his thumb underneath the tape and carefully peels back the paper. Lance must have had Hunk’s help with wrapping, he thinks. When the flaps are unfolded, and all that’s left is the paper folded over itself, he takes a breath. ”Well, here goes. Wait, no-” he opens his phone and goes to the youtube app. He clicks live stream and waits for the camera to register. His friends can always see it later, but someone out there must be online, and he thinks they’ll enjoy a unedited reaction to whatever shit Lance has pulled this year.   
  
”Hey everyone, happy holidays. Thanks for all the likes on my last video. I know how you all love speed runs.” He turns the camera from himself to Red. ”Red says thank you for the dog treats, Hunk.” Then faces it to the almost unwrapped package. ”Lance, just know that whatever’s in this box, I’m giving you back tenfold.”    
  
Keith pulls the tape off and lets the paper fall back.    
  
He expected, perhaps, a loaf of the stalest fruit cake, along with an equally stale card, ”Fruit cake for our fruit cake”. Or maybe a hair trimmer, or scissors. Stupid Lance, calling his hair a mullet.    
  
What he didn’t expect was a small, but nice digital camera.    
  
”Uhm. What? Sorry guys, I’m gonna, be right back. Lance, you fucker.”    
  
’Lance, what the actual hell man? I got you a Cards Against Humanity Expansion Pack and you get me a fucking camera?’   
  
Lance must’ve known he’d livestream the gifts. That actual asshole. Well, he did prank Keith good, at least. He was probably laughing over the stream right now.    
  
Lance texts back.   
  
’What? Dude, I got you a stale fruit cake loaf.’    
  
And then a second later.   
’Damnit, ruined that surprise. Well, if you still want your stupid loaf, I’ll drop it by later, like I planned.’   
  
Keith rips into the rest of the boxes.    
  
There’s a ring light and a good quality mic, a sketchbook made from artist level paper, a pencil case filled with expensive pencils and tools, and a small collection of giftcards. But, what tips him off to the sender, is a certificate, printed on nice paper, to Marmora restaurant in the value of $500. He’s livid. The drawings he’d made were in no way to the caliber of these gifts.    
  
Keith rings up Shiro.    
  
”Shiro, what the- I can’t- What the actual fuck? You, fucking, give me- You just- A Sony Cybershot, really? This thing. It’s gotta be at least a grand. Shiro. A grand! And that’s not all, no. You can’t even find these pencils in the States. Shiro, these giftcards are another fucking grand. NOT including the five hundred to the restaurant. I-” he pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s yelling, and he’s trying not to.    
  
”Keith.” Shiro’s voice is soft, hesitant. ”Keith, I- I know what this looks like-”   
  
”What this looks like? It looks like you dropped a few grand on me for Christmas.”   
  
”- Ok. I can’t.. deny that. Look, let’s... let’s just meet up for coffee, ok? We can talk about this.”    
  
Keith removes the phone from his ear and does a closed-mouth scream. ”Yeah, ok. Meet me at the Waffle Bucks. The one you so generously gave me a $50 giftcard to.”    
  
”Keith, please. Just, let me explain first. Try not to be mad yet, ok?”    
  
”Fine.”    
  
  
Keith still grumbles on the bus ride over. Fidgeting with the strap of his bag, slung over his shoulder, he tries to imagine what Shiro could possibly say. Lance texts him, trying to get a confirmation on time to drop the fruitcake by. Keith takes a page out of Lance’s book and sends a picture of his middle finger.    
  
On the one hand, there’s something sexy in the threat that Shiro wants to take care of him. Keith has had that sense since their meeting at the grocery store. Going home with Shiro, to be cooked a more than decent meal by him, felt a lot like something Keith dared not name. There were lunches here and there, that Keith, hungry and no commissioners, would accept. He huffs. Then the coffees...    
Damnit. He thunks his head against the window. The glass is cool and refreshes the burn on his face.    
  
The signs have been there.    
  
Shiro asked if Keith had started a patreon. He offered to do collabs, under Keith’s channel, no doubt to give Keith the revenue.    
  
Shit. He groans. That means Shiro’s been his..    
  
His...   
  
Sugar daddy.   
Fuck.   
  
The walk from the busstop is not long enough. His face feels like it’s could melt the snow. The only solace being the biting air that will serve as a cover for why. His heart is pounding against ribs. He doesn’t know how to meet his.. sugar daddy. If that’s what this is. Maybe, he cringes, this is where Shiro asks him to finally give it up. Keith can’t believe he hasn’t read the signs. Worst off, he’s not sure he’s against it. He can imagine himself beneath the heavy weight of Shiro, thick, muscled chest pressing against his back. He’ll feel the shifting of those muscles, straining, as works a slow, teasing pace, between his cheeks. Keith wouldn’t mind calling him daddy and begging. ”Daddy, inside me, please. I need your co-”    
  
And Keith walks smack dab into the door.    
  
At least it’s another reason for the red of his face.    
  
Keith sends a quick thank you to the universe for wintertime and long, thigh length coats.    
  
  
Shiro’s standing by their mug display. Analyzing each piece as if it were a museum exhibit, and he was trying to decipher the artist’s intent. He reaches out with one hand, one large, strong hand, and lifts up, what Keith’s learned to be as, an espresso shot glass. It’s tiny inside that grip. If Shiro weren’t being so gentle, he could just close his fist and crush it.    
  
Keith swallows. Oh yeah, he was mad. He’d almost forgotten why he came here.   
  
”Hey.” He knocks Shiro with his shoulder.   
  
Shiro sputters and the shot glass goes flying.    
  
Keith catches it and gently sets it back down. ”Gamer reflexes.” He offers at the wide-eyed stare he’s getting.   
  
”Keith, hey.”    
It’s so soft. Why does Shiro say his name so soft? Why hadn’t he noticed before?    
  
”Let’s order. My treat. Well, technically yours, but let me have this.”    
  
Shiro just smiles and nods, heading over to a booth. Being one of the only places open on Christmas, it’s loud and crowded. The radio plays overhead on of the only five retail-approved holiday tracks. As if nothing has ever made been made past the 90’s. Keith slides into the booth, settling into the squish of the bench, and rests his arms on the table. They both know the menu. It’s uncomfortable as they wait for their order to be taken.   
  
Keith feels better when his coffee arrives.   
  
”Keith, listen, I...” his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Keith watches it, enchanted.    
  
”It’s ok, Shiro. I just.. didn’t read things right. I have a little difficulty understanding social cues. I’m sorry it took so long for me to figure out.”   
  
”O-oh? It’s ok, I was a bit subtle. I was afraid of how you’d react, to be honest.”   
  
Keith bounces his leg. ”Yeah, I mean. It is kind of... I wasn’t prepared for it, I guess.”    
  
Shiro chuckles but there’s no humor to it. ”And?” He picks up his mug and takes a long sip.   
  
”Shiro. I’m gonna be honest. I don’t know if I can be your sugar baby.”    
  
He sputters, the coffee flies everywhere. ”Fuck, uh. I’m so sorry, I’ll- here,” he rips out a handful of napkins from the dispenser and starts cleaning up Keith. ”I.. no, that’s. I can see it but- Keith, no. I wasn’t trying to do.. that. I just wanted to help. I figured the stuff would help you make more income. I had a feeling you’d be upset so, well, if it really bothers you, you can pay me back when you make it.”    
  
Keith isn’t sure what reels him more, the fact that Shiro wasn’t wanting him to be his sugar baby, or that Shiro really believes in him. He swallows down the feeling with coffee.   
  
”I really think you’re gonna go far. I just... I wanted to speed it along.”   
  
Keith can’t think of what to say.   
  
”I’ve watched you since your first video. Lance had shared it on his dash and I.. saw you and clicked on it.”    
  
”Oh. Thanks.”   
  
”I want to see you carefree, not worrying over paying bills. So, I... I’d like it if you accepted the gifts. Think of them as investments, if that helps. But I also don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”    
  
Keith looks down at his lap.    
  
Here he was thinking Shiro was going to ask Keith to get on all fours. Which was a tantalizing idea, one that made him ache. But this made him ache in another way. He wants to cry. He can feel the wave of emotion beating against the flood barriers inside him. It’s hard to draw in air, his throat feel constricted. His fingernails dig into the fabric at his knees. He’s slow, needfully slow, to draw out his voice. He just wishes it wouldn’t tremble when says, ”Ok. I’ll take them.”    
  
They spend a bit more time talking. Shiro about how hard finances were for his grandfather when his parents died.    
  
Keith realizes that Shiro sees something in Keith that’s like himself.    
  
”Can I drive you home? I think the buses stopped running by now.” Shiro offers, as if Keith would say no, that he’d rather walk home.    
  
It’s sweet. It feels like an option, when Keith knows there really isn’t one.    
  
  
Shiro plugs the address into his GPS. The voice comes on over the car’s speakers, telling him to turn left at the next intersection. Keith looks around the car. The seats are a nice, light tan leather. The dashboard a sleek black, near spotless, save for the few fingerprints on the touchscreen in the middle. The radio is playing softrock, the title of the song and artist scrolling on a little display in green LED. The floormats look as new as the day they would have left the lot. The heater warms instantly.   
  
Stoplights pass as they head further and further into Keith’s area of town. Nerves build in his stomach as the buildings go from cute two story houses, to generic apartments, to ones that have boards on their windows, and old, worn-away brick.    
  
Keith plucks at his seatbelt.    
  
He’s watching Shiro’s face, but not a muscle twitches.    
  
The GPS voice calls out to let them know they’ve arrived.   
  
”Well, here’s my stop.” Keith clicks the belt’s buckle and guides it back into its receptacle. He pushes the door open and climbs out, carefully adjusting his coat. ”Would.. uhm. Would you like to come in? I have some cider.”    
  
Watching the smile grow on Shiro’s face feels like a fast-forward video of flowers blooming in spring. It has all the gentle warmth of the season’s sunshine, too. Not overbearing like the summer’s. ”Sure.” His voice is a balm over the ache in Keith’s chest.    
  
”Ok.” He reaches into his coat pockets for the keys. Red’s bark is muffled. She’s probably curled up on the bed, lazy. ”Ok.” He repeats as he turns the lock. It goes with little resistance.    
  
Shiro’s close behind him, palm settled on Keith’s lower back. The beep of his car being locked shakes him out of his wonder at the gesture.    
  
Opening the door, the first thing Keith notices is that Red isn’t behind it.    
  
It’s dark, no sun outside, the sky covered with snow clouds, and Keith trips on a box. ”Red. Did you play with the boxes while I was gone?” He climbs to his feet, assuring her she won’t be in trouble (too much).    
  
Red barks again, only it’s coming from the bathroom.    
  
”Did you accidentally lock yourself in again?”    
  
Shiro snorts behind him, hand thumping at the wall for the light switch. They come on, blinding.    
  
The box Keith tripped over is empty. But so is the rest of the room. ”Wha- Shiro,” Keith whips around, ”I- Shiro, someone- Fuck.” He dashes the few strides over to the bathroom and lets Red out. She runs around the apartment, sniffing with fervor. ”Someone broke in.”    
  
”Should I call the po-”   
”No! No, it’s- don’t.” Keith takes in a shaky breath. ”I doubt they’ll come out here and, it’s better to not involve them.”    
  
Shiro’s eyebrows are pushed together and he looks like he’s holding back on saying something.   
  
Keith gets it. Anyone from the neighborhood over the bridge would have no idea why you wouldn’t call the cops. But Keith’s seen the woman in the apartment above him illegally sell cigarettes to feed her infant daughter. No, there’s no need to put this place on their radar.    
  
”Keith, if you won’t call the police can you at least come home with me?”    
  
Keith must have given some type of look, because Shiro holds out his palms in placation.   
  
”D-don’t get me wrong. I, uh. I’m not trying to be your sugar daddy, honest. I’m just worried about you staying here. And I love Red. And, I just really don’t want you staying here.”    
  
”Shiro, no, you already gave me all that stuff. I can’t.”    
  
”Keith, please. It doesn’t have to be forever. Just long enough that you’re no longer a target or find some place else.”    
  
He’s tired. Really tired. At least, that’s the reason he claims when he agrees. It’s not the (ill-timed, if he must point out) flutter in his stomach at the prospect of living with Shiro, of catching accidental glances of- No, definitely not that. It’s that he’s tired and Shiro is offering him a bed.    
  
To be fair, he does fall asleep on the car ride home. Just barely conscious enough to apologize for Red’s fur shedding, before his forehead conks against the window.   
  
  
  
Settling into living with Shiro is a challenge.    
  
Keith does end up getting his dreams of seeing Shiro in less clothing (so far he’s him shirtless and in just tight, little boxer briefs. Shirogane Takashi is a large man, proportional in every aspect), but that becomes more of a curse than a blessing. There’s only so many times and ways he can excuse himself to the guest room to beat off into his hand and scream into a pillow. Perhaps worse is the nights he can hear Shiro, who must think Keith is sleeping, groaning as he does who-knows-what that gets him to those vocal orgasms. Though Keith’s learned how to time it so that his own cries are swept underneath Shiro’s.    
  
He’s exhausted, though. He feels like he’s a teenager again. He’s already had to replace his lube twice, and his dick is getting a bit sore.    
  
The real inciting incident happens when he films his first video in Shiro’s place.    
  
Keith makes the mistake of setting up in the kitchen, which happens to be where Shiro does his.    
  
Lance, because of course it would be Lance, is quick to note this in the comments, because, again, it’s Lance, and why talk privately when he can clue in the entire viewership? Keith resolves to have Pidge hack Lance’s beauty channel, and post bullshit videos.    
  
”So you two have finally confessed? Good to see you shacking up with Shirogane dude.”   
  
Keith wants to delete both the comment, and his channel. But Shiro likes it. If he deletes it, then he can’t play it off like a funny joke. It might tip Shiro off that just maybe Keith would actually enjoy sleeping with him.    
  
Then, during a live stream, Shiro walks through the camera’s view in nothing but those deliciously snug boxerbriefs. Having just woken up, Shiro notices neither the set up nor being filmed. He makes coffee, and sets a mug down next to Keith, saying, ”Here, just how you like it.”    
  
It becomes the channel’s most popular video. If only because Lance shares it, with the text letting people know they’ll get an eyeful of Shiro.    
  
Weeks pass, and Keith’s settled into the place. Shiro refuses to take payment for rent, so Keith, stubborn as he is, makes up for it with keeping the house tidy.    
  
Soon they’re collaborating on their channels.    
  
Keith makes videos of giving the cheaper alternatives to Shiro’s recipes.    
Shiro tries to play some games, with Keith’s help (and snide comments).   
  
It’s not long before the people of internet, dear God, the people of the internet, starting shipping them. As if they aren’t real, live people. Still, they’ve agreed to let people have their fun and think what they want. If, secretly, Keith wishes they actually were together.    
  
Then comes Valentine’s Day.   
  
Keith and Shiro are both single, and both laugh at the holiday. Keith thinks it’s a  trite sentiment, celebrating your loved one on a societally mandated day. Shiro agrees that every day should be special, though admits that long term couples may feel a bit different. He wouldn’t know, Shiro admits, he’s never been in a serious relationship before. Keith agrees.   
  
”Aside from giving blowjobs behind the bleachers.” Keith snorts before slapping a hand over his mouth.    
  
”Me too, don’t worry. It’s no big deal.” Shiro accents it with a squeeze to Keith’s shoulder.    
  
They both agree to watching anti-Valentine’s movies on the couch, with pizza, wine, and ice cream, and those dumb chalky candy hearts with stale sentiments on them. Keith decides to up the cheese by buying roses and littering the petals from the door, to the couch. He dresses in gaudy pink boxerbriefs that have red hearts and ’Eat Me’ on the butt in swirly lettering. Shiro walks in home from work to see Keith resting on the couch seductively, arms resting above his head, lying on his back, one leg bent at the knee, the other dangling off the couch.    
  
”Happy Valentine’s, big boy.” He says with the deepest, scratchiest rasp he can manage, before laughter overtakes him.    
  
Shiro stares, frozen in place before forcing a laugh.    
  
”Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” Keith huffs and climbs off the couch, heading into the kitchen to pull out the wine.    
  
”Keith, babe, it says Eat Me.”    
  
”I know. I saw them and thought they were the tackiest things I’ve ever seen.” He collects two glasses from the hanging rack, and one of the sweet, white wines from the middle of the wine shelf.   
  
”So you had to have them.”    
  
”So I had to have them.” He brings them out and places them on the table before Shiro.    
  
”Well, I feel overdressed now.” Shiro loosens the buttons on his chef’s coat and shucks it off and to the floor. ”What, don’t give me that look, I’ll pick it up. I know you just cleaned.” He removes the white tank undershirt and the reveal of abs and pecs spark things inside Keith. Watching Shiro unbuckle his belt, feed it back out through the loops, and then draw down his pants makes Keith want to down the bottle of wine.    
  
”There.” Shiro says, as if he hasn’t just ignited a need that’s running searing hot through Keith’s veins. ”Here, why don’t you sit back. I’ll pour the wine and take care of the ordering.”    
  
Keith wants nothing more than Shiro to do ordering- The ordering.   
The pizza. Placing an order for the pizza. He swallows thick.    
  
It’s hard for Keith to concentrate on the movie, he feels Shiro’s body heat on his naked skin. His cologne mixes with the smell of smoke and spices, making Keith lean just so to be able to smell it. The doorbell ringing makes him jump, which earns a chuckle from Shiro. The man gets up to get their pizza and Keith’s eyes are drawn to his backside. From the wide, strong back, to the taper of his waist, to the perky butt, and thick thighs, Keith feels dizzy. Worse yet is seeing the briefs cup Shiro’s balls, which are large, and hang heavy. It makes him gulp, thinking of what it would feel like for Shiro to empty in him, or on him.    
  
He quickly turns back to the movie when Shiro turns around.    
  
”You ok? You’re kind of red.” Shiro sets the boxes down with one hand and feels Keith’s forehead with the other.    
  
It puts Keith face-to-face, well, face-to-chest with Shiro’s sculpted pecs. The dark brown nipples are almost calling for Keith to lick them.    
  
”I’m fine.” His voice doesn’t sound fine. It’s harsh. Keith is thankful for having deep brown eyes, as they are good for hiding when his pupils blow out. Much like now.    
  
Shiro bends down, this time putting them actually face-to-face. His eyelashes are long, keith notes.    
  
”I think I know what you need.” His breath is warm as it caresses Keith’s face. ”Keith, stop me if I read this wrong, but...” he tilts his head, hands going to cup Keith’s cheeks, and presses their lips together.    
  
Keith moans.    
  
It’s a light pressure, barely there, but he moans. Shiro’s lips are on his. He can taste Shiro’s breath. Which, tastes strangely like a freshening mint. Keith has barely the mind to realize this might have been planned, because as soon as he kisses back, he’s met with passion that melts all other thoughts away.    
  
It’s graceless. Teeth clank, mouths miss each other, and tongues end up swiping across cheeks. But it’s glorious and desperate and Keith wants to beg to be lain into.    
  
Shiro breaks first. Hand drawing slowly down Keith’s chest, palm catching on nipples, stopping at just above his briefs. ”May I?”    
  
”Please.” He’s breathless. This is moving so fast, but for all he’s ached for it, for how long he has, it’s not fast enough. There will be time for slow, for quiet, gentle pleasure and exploration.    
  
Shiro pulls at the band of Keith’s boxers, groaning as he watches Keith spring up from beneath the fabric. ”Wanted you so bad.”    
  
He works Keith’s length with a sure hand.    
  
”W-wait, Shiro.” He’s panting, trying to hold back from the building orgasm. Shiro let’s go immediately, and Keith takes a few breaths to slow himself down. ”I- This- You can say no, I mean, but. Shiro please, I, I want you inside me.”    
  
”Baby, are you sure? Hasn’t it been awhile?”    
  
Keith shakes his head. ”I’ve.. been playing with toys when I hear you at night.”    
  
”Fuck.” Shiro squeezes his eyes tightly and palms the straining bulge in his underwear. ”I’ll be back.”    
  
He returns with a condom and lube.    
  
Keith grabs at the bottle of lube and pumps a good amount onto his fingers. Shiro climbs out of his boxers, watching Keith’s fingers move downward to open himself. He’d played with a toy last night, one he’d bought that was the size he’d estimated Shiro to be. Despite how big Shiro looked beneath clothes, he was still a bit of a grower. Keith worked himself till he could just about stuff his fist in. And Shiro just watched, biting his lip, and giving lazy strokes to himself.   
  
He eases Keith to his side, ”This angle is gentler.” And pushes in.    
  
Like with the rest of the evening, Keith senses a time will come for them to be slow, to make love. But Shiro seems to feel the same urgency. And, as the long pumps in and out turn to quick, brutal snaps from the hips, Keith doesn’t mind a bit.    
  
Shiro is so thick, Keith strains around him, his toy having not been quite up to size. It’s delicious, the way the plump head drags along him.    
  
Neither last long.   
  
A few hits to the prostate and Keith is crying out Shiro’s name. Constricting around Shiro with orgasm. Shiro follows, groaning Keith’s name.    
  
Shiro pulls out and ties up the condom, tossing it in the wastebasket by their kitchen door.    
  
”Pizza’s cold.” He laughs. ”Should I warm it up?”    
  
”Yes, God, I’m starving.” Keith just barely picks himself off the couch to wet a rag for clean up.    
  
  
”So...” Keith asks after they eat, ”Uh, how long?”    
  
Shiro blinks. ”10 inches.”    
  
Keith sputters. ”N-no! Stop it you. How long have you...”   
  
”Been in lov- like. Liked you? I uh. Well. Is it weird if I say since I first found your channel? You just seemed really nice.”   
  
”Well then we’re both weird.”    
  
They burst out into laughter.    
  
”Keith, baby. How about we just cuddle? I’m swamped. Let’s talk in the morning, ok?”    
  
They move to Shiro’s bed. Shiro rests on his back, and Keith curls into his side.   
  
  
They talk in the morning. 

 

  
  
——————-

 

In the kitchen, bonus:   
  
Keith awakes, snuggled under the plush comforter and soft, high-thread count, cotton sheets. He pats the spot next to him, Shiro always sleeps on the left, but the man isn’t there. Keith rolls the full length of the king size bed, more because it’s just so big, and he can, than to just be a means of leaving it. The silk of his panties, which themselves were a gag-gift (or so Shiro claimed. Keith doubted it, highly so, but he let    
Shiro have the excuse) for Valentine’s day, slides nice along his skin as he leaves the bed. The air is cool against the exposed skin, especially on the near three-quarters of his cheeks hanging out, and he shivers from the contrast of that to their warm bed.    
  
Red perks up from her bed, tags on her collar jingling as she’s quick to her feet to lavish attention on Keith.    
  
”Thanks, girl.” He chuckles and pats her head, but she just ignores him and tries to lick his calf anyways. ”You’re gonna make a bald patch.”    
  
”You only ever get this excited when-” the smell hits him, ”oh. Daddy’s making pancakes.” Which he’s not sure if he meant the comment to be to Red, that they’re co-parenting her, or- Yeah, he’s not going to think about that. But it involves sugar.    
Metaphorically and physically.    
  
Ugh. He huffs.   
  
”Alright, alright, let’s go see.” Keith plucks his bathrobe, also silk, and was part of a set with the panties (again Shiro denied his desire to see Keith dressed in it. His claim that time was that Keith would be cold if all he wore were the panties. As if Keith couldn’t just put on other clothes, naturally). It swishes softly as he feeds his arms through it.    
  
Red’s feet thunder down the stairs, taking them faster than Keith, and she waits at the bottom for him.    
  
He scratches behind her ears as he makes the landing.    
  
From down here, he can not just smell the pancakes, but also the coffee.    
  
Since coming to live with Shiro, and having been permanently moved in, the man had bought all kinds of exotic and pricey blends for Keith to try. He’d claimed it was an affront to the art itself, as he called it, to guzzle down the brown water that was gas station coffee. Though, when it came up with Kolivan one day, the truth was that Shiro wasn’t ever so big on coffee before Keith. It was Kolivan himself who had to suggest blends and where to buy them. Far be it from Keith, though, to let Shiro know that he knew.    
  
Whichever blend he’d chosen, it’s aroma was rich and earthy, with the hint of vanilla bean and licorice.   
  
Trying to step quietly, Keith slips in through the archway to the kitchen.   
  
”Hey, babe. I’m making pancakes.”    
  
It’s impossible to be silent on a marble floor.    
  
”Mornin’.” Keith says through a yawn, padding over to the mug of coffee that’s his. Because Shiro can’t just make large quantity pots like a normal person. Nope. Taking a sip, and slurping in air, which helps the taste, Keith finds himself unable to really complain about that. ”Ethiopian today, I see.”    
  
Shiro calls from over his shoulder, attention rapt with the pancakes cooking on the stove, ”Yeah. I know that one’s your favorite. Besides I hear it-”   
  
”-boost libido. Yeah. Ok, old man. Us and our limp dicks.” Keith rolls his eyes. He rests his back against the counter and watches Shiro from the corner of his vision.   
  
”I don’t know. Last night-”    
  
”Shiro, please. It was round three. You thoroughly milked my prostate. I was dry cumming. Of course it took me awhile to get it back up.”    
  
Shiro finally turns his head towards Keith. At first he shoots a wink and a chuckle his way, but he gasps. ”You’re wearing... You- uh. Look good. Well, pancakes are done.”    
  
Keith is still getting used to the idea that he could attract someone like Shiro. But there’s no mistaking the look he gave Keith just then.    
  
”Wait, stay there.” Shiro rests his large hand, which swallows Keith’s stomach beneath it’s width, against him. The other hand drags its palm over the front of Keith’s panties.    
  
Keith swallows and sets his mug off to the side.    
  
Shiro tugs the panties down from the crotch, letting them fall down Keith’s feet. He then removes the robe from Keith’s shoulders. Keith has to lean away from the counter and offers his arms for Shiro to get it off. That, too, falls to the ground. Before any protest can happen, which is founded concern for the hundreds of dollars those two meager items cost, Shiro’s lips are upon his. They kiss hungrily; tongues wind around each other, teeth clink together, and spit drops down their chins.    
  
Shiro lifts Keith onto the counter.    
  
”Breakfast is served.”    
  
Keith starts to ask Shiro what he means, until he’s pulled to edge, and told to spread his legs. Shiro folds him a bit, enough that his weight keeps him on the counter.    
  
Shiro gets to his knees, the plush of his pajama pants must keep it from hurting, Keith thinks until he feels the warmth of breath against him. He curses as the tip of Shiro’s tongue smooths gently over, wet enough to cause Keith to stir, but too light to be anything more than teasing. Which is something he usually does to Keith. The tongue traces and circles and laps at Keith, coaxing him to beg, to plead for more. Unfortunately for Keith, Shiro knows exactly how to undo him until the only concious thought he can hold on to, and act in, is to whine for more.    
  
”Shiro, please.” He whines for more.   
  
He eats Keith like he actually is for breakfast. First dragging the flat of his tongue, where Keith can feel himself twitch against, and then two large hands pry him apart, and the tongue works in, out, and around him.    
  
Keith wants to put his fingers in Shiro’s hair, to yank his face flush against his backside, but he’s still holding himself spread. All he can do is moan, entirely at Shiro’s mercy and goodwill.    
  
He’s starting to feel messy, spit leaking from him and down his back. It feels incredible. His eyes roll up, lids shut tightly, squeezing.    
  
”Sh-Shiro...” he cries out, damned that Shiro would make him, and his own cum shoots hot against his face.    
  
Shiro grabs a napkin and wipes his face off. ”Aww, poor baby. Look at you, making a mess all over yourself. Daddy’s gonna have to clean you off good.” The tone is mocking but damned if that in itself doesn’t make Keith wish for instant refractory.    
  
”Don’t mock me.” That’s the biggest lie he thinks he’d ever told. Keith only pretends he doesn’t like being patronized by Shiro like this.    
  
”Ok, baby. But you came on yourself.”    
  
Keith snorts. ”Yeah, yeah.” He moves to hop down from the counter when an errant leg (listen, his boyfriend just went to town on his ass, limbs are hard to control) knocks over what could only, emphasis on only, be the flour that was out for the pancakes.    
  
The bag falls to the ground, with it clouds of white powder spew forth, covering Shiro and the front of Keith.    
  
For a moment they blink at each other. Partly to get their eyes cleared, and partly because they’re shocked. Then they burst in roudy laughter.    
  
”Oops?” Keith tries to speak through it. ”Guess I really did make a mess.”    
  
”I- I’ll.. pfft.. clean you up. The cum is worse now.” Shiro opens a drawer beneath the sink and procures a wash cloth. He turns the faucet on and runs it until it warms, which doesn’t take long.   
  
He wipes first at Keith’ face, whom grimaces as the drying cum is peeled off him. ”Ugh, that’s so gross.” Keith says and Shiro gives him a look. He throws that cloth in the sink and wets another one, cleaning Keith off gently until nearly all of the flour is gone.    
  
”Hand me a wet cloth.” Keith holds out a hand, making a grabbing motion.    
  
”Manners.” He says, but gives one to Keith despite.    
  
”My turn. C’mere.” Keith reaches one hand out to cup Shiro’s cheek in his palm, the other wipes off the flour. Laughter has given way to chuckles, and chuckles to a wide grin. Keith feels his heart melting. When did he start to fall for this man? He wonders. Though, perhaps most importantly, when did he fall for Keith? What strikes him is not that Shiro had just rimmed him, though that, in itself, was no selfish nor unloving gesture, but the fun in what would have otherwise been an awkward moment. This, this cleaning him off because he spilled the flour, was something strangely more intimate, more loving, and better than any sex.    
  
He tosses the dirtied towel to join the others.   
  
”Wait.” He croaks and it’s weird, and Shiro looks at him weird, but he’s feeling something. He tugs at Shiro’s arms, getting him to step closer. ”I’m gonna lick this off.”    
  
”Keith? This is flour.” The laughter returns and peace settles over Keith.    
  
”Yeah, well, you were just tonguing my asshole, mister.”    
  
”Touché.”    
  
It doesn’t taste good. It kind of dries his mouth a bit, too. But when his tongue moves from collarbones to nipples, nipples to abs, the moans are worth the price of admission. Keith gets off the counter, his hands falling to sharp hips, and he uses the leverage to move down to his knees. He doesn’t look up at the soft gasp, nor when fingers lace through his hair, pulling it from it’s loose ponytail. Shiro’s hanging in front of him, thick, heavy, and so swollen he’s leaking a tiny stream of precum. Keith is thankful for the sight, it gets his mouth to water.    
  
”Baby. My baby.” It’s soft. It’s sexy, yes, but it’s soft. Tender. Reverant. The same way in which Keith is opening his mouth and throat for Shiro, reverant.    
  
His girth fills his mouth, and aches his jaw. He feels the veins twitch along the shaft from the way it has his tongue glued down beneath it. Relaxing, Keith inhales deeply, because it’s Shiro, and it should be nasty but the scent makes him needy. Resting his head back against the cabinets, Keith waits.    
  
Shiro gets the hint.    
  
Keith will thank his maker one day for not having a gag reflex. As it is, the gentle thrusting Shiro is doing has him sending mental prayers.    
  
The pace quickens, likely that Shiro’s felt edged by this point. Keith concentrates on the drag of the head along the inside of his throat. It’s bliss.    
  
Wait.    
Keith coughs and Shiro groans, holding Keith’s head so that he’s deep inside while Keith constricts around him.    
  
”S-sorry.” He whispers breathless, pulling out of Keith.    
  
Keith shakes his head. ”I’m glad,” glad for your pleasure, ”just, hold on, ok?” He uses his grip on Shiro’s thighs to pull to his feet. Reaching to the side, he takes hold of the handle of his mug. The coffee is lukewarm by now, he notes, but takes it back down with him. Looking up at Shiro, widening his eyes, letting his lips part slightly, he breathes, ”Can I have some cream, daddy?”    
  
It’s stupid.    
  
But it works.    
  
Shiro shoots into the cup, jerking his own length to empty everything, all the while never looking away from Keith’s face. The last burst Shiro raises himself, making a gutteral noise low in his throat as it lands on Keith’s eyebrow, causing him to close it.    
  
Without breaking eye contact, Keith gulps down his spoils.    
  
”I licked flour off your abs and then I drank lukewarm coffee with your sperm in it.” He’s horrified. He’s satiated. But really he’s just horrified that it made him satiated.   
  
Shiro pulls Keith to his feet.    
  
”I’m gonna brush my teeth.” He snorts. ”And you, mister, are coming with me. You did eat my ass, y’know.”    
  
”Loved every minute of it, babe.”    
  
”We’re so dumb. I love you, Shiro.”    
  
”We’re so dumb,” he agrees, ”I love you too, babe. Now let’s clean up.”    
Shiro smacks his ass as they make their way to the bathroom.    
  
This, Keith thinks, as he scrubs his teeth, is what it’s all about.   
  



End file.
